A Kiss in the Carryon Backpack
by call me milady
Summary: Belle doesn't get out much, but when she does one night, she's surprised to meet a boy who has no idea who she is.


**A Kiss in the Carryon Backpack**

**by **onetwosevennine

**starring **Spain and Belgium (Axis Powers Hetalia)

**author's notes.** Okay, so this fic was inspired by lots of things. Like my recently rekindled love of coffee, an excerpt of the anthology "_Destination Unexpected_", a huge whump of well-written human!AU Hetalia fics, and an adorable-beyond-all-reason piece of Spain/Belgium fanart – deviantart's APH-Date-186275112 Oh, and the fact that Belgium's finally got a speaking role in the anime, that contributed a bit too! ❤  
And since this is AU (and I'm one uncreative lazyass), human names, both official and fanon, will be used. Belle will be Belgium, and Niels and Lucas will be Netherlands and Luxembourg, her older and younger brothers, respectively. Alliterative appeal right there.

**ratings and warnings. **T for language.

**summary. **Belle doesn't get out much, but when she does one evening, she's surprised to meet a boy who has no idea who she is.

(it wasn't love at first sight, but it was definitely _something_.)

**. . .**

Belle woke to find herself inelegantly sprawled on her bed.

She shivered slightly when she saw that her thighs and calves had popped out of the covers and were being nipped at by the cold. One of her pillows had fallen off of her mattress, and outside, on the windowsill, tiny little sparrow birds were chirping away noisily to the whistling of the winds.

Groaning, Belle forced herself to sit up. Oversleeping is terribly unladylike, she was always told ("You look like a lazy cow who got drunk off its ass and passed out in a puddle of drool," her older brother had helpfully elaborated) and though she hadn't protested to the notion (much – anymore) any amount of nagging or insults couldn't change her tremendous dislike of waking up early – because she was most definitely not a morning person.

Also, the fact that she hadn't really gotten enough sleep during the night didn't exactly help things much, either.

Belle had gone out last night. It was really supposed to be a spur-of-the-moment thing, and it still was, in a way. Okay, fine, she had discussed it in length with her brother, who had fervently agreed to come with (for once in his life) at first, but he had to turn down the offer at the last minute due to some stuff that, although explained thoroughly to her, Belle never actually paid attention to. Bottom line was, Niels couldn't get his ass organized and thus couldn't go, and so she sought the next best thing, and asked Ludwig and Francis to join her. They said yes, and so the three of them went out. Nothing special, just out.

Ludwig and Francis arrived at Belle's place right on time to pick her up. She let them in, and – noting that they had brought clothes to change in – allowed them to get dressed over at her brother's room (Francis wanted to do it in her room, but quickly gave up on that after a not-so-discreet jab in the stomach from Ludwig.) Belle stole a pair of shades from the desk of Lucas, her little brother, and worked a little bit on her hair. Then, she proclaimed herself ready, and the three of them went out. Belle's place was really convenient, you could walk anywhere from there.

_So then what?_ Francis had asked. _Where were they going now?_ Turns out that Belle didn't really think about that earlier; she was just really excited to finally be able to get out, and when she confessed to that she could hear Ludwig heave out a heavy sigh. He then tried – and failed – to resist the urge to further acquaint his palm with his forehead. Then, as Belle and Francis had laughed at his beet-red face, it started to rain.

Belle's laughter died down, and, being gentlemen, Ludwig and Francis quickly scouted out a quaint-looking coffee shop amidst the buildings and ushered her in. When she protested, they claimed that the place had pretty good lattes, at least, and they both really wanted one, so _can we please get inside, the rain's already soaking through our shirts and we're really, really cold. _(_Oh, Francis, _Ludwig chided._ Stop being such a whiny baby. But I have to admit, a latte _does _sound good though._)

Defeated, Belle nodded and sunk into a chair as Ludwig and Francis walked up to the counter to place their orders. With nothing else to do, Belle examined the interior of the coffee shop. It was classy, she supposed, decorated in creamy off-whites, black, and different hues of brown mixed together to create a wonderful, eye-pleasing palette. The lighting was well-placed and there were a few desktop computers scattered around within the shop, and they were propped upon dark, expensive-looking wooden tables.

She noted that there were a few people sitting around too, indicating this place was pretty well-known but not exactly what one would call a big-shot. The customers were dispersed and comfortably separated by huge gaps, Belle observed, and each one of them seemed to be content in their own little personal space. None of the faces looked familiar to her – not that that was a bad thing.

One minute was spent by Belle scanning mindlessly around the room with her chin propped up in her upturned palm. The next thing she knew, there was this boy, who was hovering over her shoulder, smiling and occasionally humming to himself. Curious, Belle looked up. Everything seemed to look up.

"Oh, hello. _Buenas noches_." he greeted breathily, his hand still poised upon his BlackBerry's keyboard. She knew enough of Spanish to recognize that he had just bid her good evening. "I'm sorry, _señorita_, was I bothering you? It's just that, I noticed that this coffee shop had wireless internet connection and I just finished sending emails to everybody I know back home."

Belle was briefly at a loss of words. Why did he just tell her that? It didn't make any sense, it seemed to be nothing if not really random and it wasn't as if she gave off any notions that she wanted to know what he was doing.

And yet, in truth, she did want to. She wanted to know further about him, even though it had been mere seconds since she had seen his face and he had spoken to her. Perhaps it was just common courtesy flitting through her mind; the countless hours she had spent studying under the watchful eyes of her aged teacher (whom her brothers oh-so-fondly nicknamed Master Heimlich the Lisper). Maybe it was the trillions of etiquette lessons that had been drilled into her brain, that said _it is your job to look interested about a conversation at all times, be it about oil prices or polo or one of Niels' ridiculous rants about bunnies_. Maybe it was her curiosity, for she had just discovered something – or rather, someone, that almost boggled her mind, and she was determined to find out why.

Or maybe she was just interested. She was fascinated by this boy. A question flew through her mind – did he not recognize her? Did he not _know_ who she was? – and it almost blurted itself out of her lips. But it didn't, and Belle asked instead:

"Emails?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah. See, normally, people would send postcards and stuff, but I figured, why bother, y'know? Emails are so much faster, and you could always attach photos to them. Postcards take forever, I bet that if I sent one, it wouldn't get delivered until my trip was over, and I had finished telling everybody about it," he explained in one go. Belle briefly wondered where he got the lung capacity. "The trip, I mean. Not the postcards. Besides, I don't know where to buy stamps in this country."

"…I see." Belle said.

He had hair with the color of a deep brown that almost glistened beneath the lights of the coffee shop. It was like dark chocolate, or molasses, Belle thought involuntarily, and she wondered if she could pluck out a strand and taste it, to prove herself.

He laughed quietly, and his peppermint eyes twinkled.

"Wow, you sure like to stare, don't you? But, well, you're foreign," he said, and he tilted his head a split second before continuing again. "Well, not exactly. I'm the foreign one, I guess. You live here. Don't you?"

"All my life." Belle replied with a friendly smile, a bit of dryness seeping into her tone.

"Mm. I could tell. You've got an accent."

"_You've_ got an accent."

"Haha, yeah, I suppose I do too," he agreed with a laugh. "People can tell I'm of Spanish heritage just by hearing me talk."

It was true, Belle realized. And she had to keep him talking. He, unlike her (French-ish Dutch-ish one), had a wonderful accent, the way he trill-rolled his Rs and the slight tinge of a sing-song lilt he gave to the end of his sentences, and the different twangs he puts upon his syllables. It was wonderful, he was wonderful – and she had no idea why she thought so.

Belle caught him sparing a glance at the two empty chairs beside her. One for Francis and one for Ludwig.

"Would you like a seat?" she offered. "Those are empty."

He thanked her with a small pat on her shoulder and went around her table. When he had seated himself across from her, a friendly smile still gracing his lips, she could still feel where his hand had been.

"So what's with the sunglasses?" he asked, pointing. "It's dark, and it's raining, and you're indoors."

"Ah," Belle faltered, and for a split second she wondered if she had been wrong in inviting him to sit with her. "No reason, I just like wearing them. I…um, stole them from my little brother."

"Ah, yes. That's okay, then." He solemnly proclaimed with the air of an old man who has partied too many birthdays. "Nothing feels as good as wearing stolen goods from your little siblings. That's something I can vouch for."

"Yes." Belle replied simply, feeling content. But now Francis and Ludwig came walking in their direction, their lattes in hand. They spotted the boy sitting with her, and sent her questioning looks. She discreetly shook her head, and they veered off and seated themselves in a different table.

"My name is Antonio," he said with a smile.

"I'm Belle," she replied.

"Belle," he repeated. "That's a beautiful name."

"Oh. Well, thank you."

He chuckled. "You're blushing," he pointed out with a grin. "How cute."

From the other end of the shop, Francis and Ludwig watched them like hawks.

"I heard the lattes over here are pretty good. Do you want one, Antonio?" she asked, anxious to distract him from the sudden increase of pinkness on her cheeks.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You heard? You mean you've never been here before?" When she shook her head, he continued. "Wow. I think I've got you figured out now."

Belle's face immediately fell. _Doomed_, she supposed. She eyed Antonio warily, pressing her lips together.

"Do you?"

"Yeah," he spoke like a spy. A lovely, handsome spy. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but…you're like, what, seventeen?"

She gave him a slow, cautious nod.

"Me too," Antonio said eagerly. "I just turned seventeen last month. And I just got accepted to one of the best universities back home in Spain, so my parents thought that it would be nice to celebrate by traveling here. It's also sort of like my birthday present, I suppose. I'm here with them and two of my little brothers."

Belle sank bank into her chair, relieved, shattered – and a bit alarmed at his ability to get distracted and swerve the conversation to a completely different subject. _That was close_.

He proceeded to tell her that they were actually doing their own little tour of Europe, and this was their third stop. So far, they had seen bits of France and Switzerland, and they had only one more day to stay here before hopping on a train headed for Luxembourg, and maybe Norway after that. With wide eyes, he recounted bits of his experiences to her, like the one from last week where he got on a wrong train and almost went all the way to Lourdes. Belle laughed aloud at that.

"Are you enjoying my country?" she asked him pleasantly.

"It's fairly small, to be completely honest. My parents do allow me to go venture out by myself, but seems like no matter how much I try, I keep bumping into them. But it's nice," he admitted. Then he dropped his voice and inched closer. "I could imagine staying here, maybe, when I'm older. Maybe for the rest of my life, like–" he paused for a moment, then offered her a smile. "Like you."

Belle tried not to read too much into what he just said (Did he just flirt with her? Does that mean he liked her, if only a little?)

"I'm glad to hear that." she said, and he laughed. "So, um, about the lattes. Let me get one for you," she offered.

"Oh no, no," Antonio shook his head vigorously. He gestured for her to keep sitting. "Thanks, that's really nice of you, but I'm fine. I only came here for the Internet connection, after all."

"Okay, sure. Do you mind if I get a latte for myself, then?"

"Of course not," he said.

"And," Belle continued, sounding almost shy. Niels and Lucas would definitely laugh at her if they saw her at the moment. "Would you mind keeping me company as I finish it?"

He laughed again, and it sounded golden. "No, not at all."

**. . .**

Almost unsurprisingly, Antonio made a wonderful companion. His stories were pleasant ones that you could actually laugh at and drink coffee to at the same time, and he expressed them with the enthusiasm of a two-year-old and the charm of an aged politician. Belle had returned to her seat with two lattes in her hand – she only brought money for one and now she owed Ludwig three bucks – and insisted that Antonio take one. He accepted it graciously, though he later admitted that he actually wasn't a big fan of coffee ("So much for stereotypes, huh?" he asked with a snicker.) She promptly apologized for being so pushy, and he shook it off with a wave of his hand and a mile-wide grin.

They talked about everything. They kept it simple and light, and usually Belle would think of such conversations as awkward and boring, but this one wasn't. She couldn't remember the last time she had a real, decent chat with someone of the male species. Ludwig was too polite and serious, while Francis was too flirty and teasing. Arguments and childish banters seemed to be the basis of every single conversation between her brothers and herself, and besides, who has ever heard of having decent conversations with _brothers_?

But Antonio…he was sort of refreshing, for the lack of a better word. Even as he just sat there in a moment of inevitable silence that signaled the end of one conversation topic, a semicolon of little precious seconds used to unwind a bit and search for something else to talk about.

Belle noticed there was a white mustache from the double whipped cream and foam of his latte that now had decorated Antonio's upper lip. It was strange of her to think of such a thing as endearing, but it was. Him with his espresso-colored hair, smiling almond-shaped eyes, and a milk-white mustache. He bordered on beautiful. And he was so close to her too. Closer than any–

She felt a little faint.

"So listen," Antonio said abruptly, jolting her and interrupting their discussion on something regarding sixteenth-century pirates and eBay and toaster ovens. "I have to ask you something. Are you seeing anybody?"

Through her shades, Belle was straining her eyes to see _him_. "I'm afraid I don't understand," she said, shaking her head and sending him a small, apologetic smile.

"Like, uh, are you going out with anybody? Some guy, perhaps?"

She felt her face grow hot from his unabashed question. "No, I…I suppose not."

"You suppose?"

"Well…" Belle tried to amend, sliding her gaze to the side. But she found herself unusually tongue-tied and not able to form any words.

Antonio made a low humming sound, then shrugged. "Oh well," he said, dabbing away his white mustache. He checked his watch and touched Belle lightly on the knee. It took all of her willpower not to flinch from the sudden, (_warm_) skin-to-skin contact, choosing instead to subtly tug at her black, short skater skirt that had already hitched up her thighs.

"Listen, I really have to go now, back to the hotel I'm staying. Your buses stop running at midnight," he told her.

She tilted her head. "They do?"

His eyes widened again. "Mm. You don't get out much, do you?"

"Not really, no."

"You must go to a boarding school, then. A private one too, I assume?"

Belle nodded. The 'private' part was true, but not the boarding school part. But she wasn't going to tell him that – she had her pride.

"Okay. So, this is your capital – yet everything closes before midnight, and after that, it's like a city of the dead. No offense, though," he said, standing up from his seat. "It's just that, where I live, it's all hustle and bustle every single hour of the day."

Belle stood up from her seat as well, and in the corner of the room, she could see Francis and Ludwig stir.

Antonio tilted his head at her. "Are you heading for the bus stop too?"

"Oh. Yes. Sort of."

"Okay, then. We can walk there together."

He took her hand before she could object, then he opened the door for her. Although the same deed has been done for her many times before, Belle felt that when he did it, it was different – somehow. The cobblestones on the pavement glistened like little marbles under the moonlight and a sheet of light rain. Across the street, a historic building loomed over them quaintly. A few people were up some ladders, draping flags over lampposts.

"Tomorrow's a holiday, isn't it?" Antonio observed.

"That's right." Belle said.

"Will there be a parade? Back where I live, there's always a parade whenever something big happens – even if it's something like the first day of summer or the arrival of an imported llama."

Belle laughed. "Yes, there will be a parade." she told him, amused.

"Well, then, do you think it'll be possible for us to watch it together?" Antonio asked, a tinge of hopefulness laced in his voice.

"Oh," she replied. Mentally, she began panicking. "I wish it was, but…I have plans already. I'm sorry."

"Oh. Mm," he said. The bus appeared (too soon, too soon, she didn't want him to leave just yet, she wanted him to stay and keep the butterflies in her stomach fluttering, she _wanted_–) and bathed parts of them in bits of headlights. "That's okay. Tell me one last thing though."

The bus doors slowly opened, and Antonio got in.

"Sure."

"Do those two guys always follow you around?"

Belle turned around and saw Francis attempt to hide behind a phone booth, with Ludwig only a few feet behind him. He said something that made Francis come out of his (useless) hiding spot, and the stubbled young man turned to wave at her with a sheepish grin, while Ludwig merely acknowledged her gaze with a curt nod and a slight turn of his lips. Belle gave them a half-exasperated smile, shook her head, and when she turned around again, the bus containing Antonio was already gone.

**. . .**

But all of that was last night. Antonio had since became a Cheshire-like smile wafting in her dreams and depriving her of sleep, and at this inexplicably poetic notion, Belle felt her mouth curl into a pout. Now, it was morning, and the stupid sparrow birds have stopped singing to flutter away in the wind. In the middle of the (short-lived) silence, Belle could hear footsteps shuffling from outside her room. Knowing exactly what would happen next, she braced herself as much as she could, curling herself into a Belle-shaped ball covered by her comforters.

In an ear-splitting explosion of brass cymbals, bass drums, and the seemingly out-of-place saxophone, the Royal Band struck up. Belle recognized an echo of laughter that undoubtedly came from the soulful, ever-rambunctious saxophonist named Alfred Jones, and then it was followed by a flurry of reprimanding words that sounded frighteningly similar to Jones' cousin Arthur (who, in turn, usually played the tin flute and the Scottish bagpipes.) Today, though, he was probably just there to make sure that Alfred didn't get into any trouble.

Then, just as Belle started to relax, the entire National Choir erupted into a rather rousing chorus:

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOUR HIGHNESS, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO _YOU_!"

Belle groaned for the second time in the morning and grabbed her head.

Yes, it was a holiday today, because it was the birthday of the Crown Prince. He just turned twenty-one, and was now officially recognized as an adult who was ready to take over the throne if the King and Queen couldn't handle the duties anymore. Belle knew it was a pretty big deal, so it was no wonder that today was declared a national holiday. But it was no day off for her, because the Crown Prince happened to be the very person who had accused her sleeping face to be similar to that of a drunken cow.

She was the Prince's younger sister, and princess of the country, second-in-line for the throne.

Belle stifled a sigh, and suddenly, the doors of her bedroom burst open. She felt herself involuntarily flinch. _Didn't these people know how to knock?_ she thought to herself. They always barge in without any regard of privacy, as if her room was public property. Though, being part of the palace, it most probably was. She let the sigh escape from her lips.

Servants immediately began flooding in; bidding her good morning and asking her if she had had a good night's sleep. One of her maids told her that her bathwater had already been drawn, and that the royal stylist was ready and waiting for her (_Oh, sure, no pressure at all_, Belle inwardly grumbled.) Another maid came in bringing her breakfast, which was covered by a silver dome. It was lifted up to reveal waffles and fresh fruit and cream. Suddenly reminded of her hunger, Belle thanked the maid and dug in right away.

Then several other people began waltzing into Belle's room, making sure to either bow or curtsy and greet her properly. She quickly dismissed them all, except two young men, who particularly stood out. One had his tie replaced by a rather elaborate neckbow that looked like it had been fished directly out of the seventeenth century, while the other one seemed to have forgotten to button up his neatly ironed suit jacket. Compared to the others, they seemed pretty laid back and nonchalant in approaching her, and it really came was no surprise. They were her childhood friends-slash-equerries, Viscount Bonnefoy and the Baron of Allemannia.

Francis and Ludwig.

Belle smiled at them, and they grinned in return – well, Francis did anyway. Ludwig's expression was as austere as ever. Deciding to forgo the usual custom of bowing to her, Her Royal Highness (not that she minded – she won't go crazy about things like that, unlike a certain image-obsessed little brother she could mention) Francis instead took a step forward and prepared to greet her. Already expecting something along the lines of '_Bonjour, princesse!_' and racy double entendres, she became surprised when Ludwig suddenly stepped in front of the young Frenchman, and then opened his mouth.

"_Guten Morgen, _Princess," he greeted her in a crisp tone. A hint of a smile began tugging on his lips, and behind him, Belle could hear Francis lightly snigger. "I do believe you still owe me three bucks."

She laughed then. "Good morning to you, too."

**. . .**

"_Ugh._ Remind me again why we are supposed to do this."

"Because, Bel," her fifteen-year-old little brother Lucas informed her smugly, seeming to be nothing if not gleeful in witnessing her distress. He jabbed a finger at their oldest brother. "Niels here is the Heir Apparent, and you and I are Heirs Presumptives. And it's his twenty-first birthday today, and thus there will be a parade, where it is expected of the Royal Family to make an appearance."

"You don't say," Belle replied sardonically. "Thanks for clearing that up for me, Captain Duh. I had no idea."

Her older brother snickered, and Belle rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly. Despite the frequent childish quarrels that took place among themselves, as older siblings, they were both very much capable of teaming up against their little brother to simultaneously (or consecutively, whichever worked best) snark up a storm at him if the situation demanded it.

"Which one of you was supposed to be the smart one, again? Oh, that's right: neither." Niels quipped. With a scoff, Belle smacked him on the arm, while Lucas spared him a half-hearted glare.

It was said that while Niels inherited the throne, Belle had inherited the looks, and Lucas had to settle for brains. Even so, countless teenage girls across the country were practically gaga over him, though both of his older siblings had their share of fans as well. Lucas always took this fact as a little personal victory, something that his older brother and sister would never manage to achieve any time soon, and his obnoxious gloating and glossing over such facts always made Belle and Niels want to tear out their hair in annoyance.

"Oh, ha _ha_, Niels," Belle remarked as she climbed up into her carriage. It was her personal state carriage, given to her ever since she reached the milestone age of sixteen, and though it wasn't as elaborate as the one used by her parents and her older brother, it was impressive in its own right. It was painted a nice vanilla color, with intricate, handkerchief-like carvings and little bits of gold adorning the side, and it had a retractable roof, much like a convertible car. Her little brother climbed in next after her – being fifteen, he had yet to be given his own carriage. "You're killing me with your wit, seriously." she jibed, rolling her eyes

"Yes, well. I try." Niels replied with mock modesty, lifting a hand to smooth down his spikes of blond hair. "And your sarcasm cuts at the very fiber of my being, Sister. It's too bad little baby Lucas here doesn't share our wonderful sense of humor, isn't it?"

"Indeed. Poor baby Lucas."

"Yo, aren't you supposed to go with Mother and Father instead of standing here bothering us?" Lucas said (whined), obviously irritated. "It's your birthday parade, in case you have forgotten."

"Oh, trust me, I haven't." Niels replied rather sourly. His expression contorted into a disgruntled one, as if Lucas had just flicked a switch that controlled his face. Belle could almost see why Niels was so peeved – other twenty-one-year-olds probably celebrated their birthdays by throwing wild parties that involved copious amounts of alcohol and making out or something, not by parading around the streets in a stiff-collared suit. Not to mention Niels had been denied any cigarette-smoking until the celebration ended. _Some_ birthday.

"Then what are you doing still talking to us, Niels?" their youngest brother retorted, crossing his arms in a so-there manner and sticking out his tongue. Belle rolled her eyes at the incredibly mature display.

"Geez, alright, I'm going, I'm going. No need to get all snappy," Niels said, waving his hand as he walked away. "And its _Prince_ Niels to you, twerps."

"Huh. Just because he's already twenty-one, he thinks he's all that." Belle said dryly to Lucas. Although she said it from behind a daintily lifted hand, she projected her voice just loud enough so Niels could hear.

"Excuse me, Bel?" he frowned.

"Of course, _Majesty_." Belle sang, a teasing, sarcastic lilt filling her voice. "You are excused. Off you go now."

She batted her eyelashes and fluttered her fingers exaggeratedly, Niels mumbled a sullen 'that is _not_ what I meant', and Lucas laughed, despite himself.

**. . .**

The parade had gotten a late start. It turned out that the playful banter between the Royal siblings had held up the show, although they had been dressed, brushed, tweezed and plucked within an inch of their lives in order to look presentable, and were delivered to their respective carriages fairly on time.

Almost every marching band in the kingdom marched. Then the Royal Band went by on a float, playing a rather jazzy rendition of birthday songs and the national anthem (the saxophone solo was particularly expressive and lasted for the most part of the performance.) Then in came the Royal Navy and the army, both of them displaying incredible talent in marching like wound-up, perfectly timed soldier dolls. When they did their little marching tricks, composed of striking poses and salutes and elaborate footwork, Belle could hear the crowd go wild.

Soon, after a drum roll, fanfares, and a rather brief announcement, the two Royal carriages emerged out of the palace yard. The wheels emitted clattering sounds; and the Royal Family strode together behind plumed, well-groomed horses, towards the cheering crowd.

Belle snuck a glance at Niels, who had ditched his prior attitude of sarcasm and sullenness within a blink of an eye. With the King and Queen smiling and nodding, he had no choice but to follow their example. It was his birthday they were celebrating, after all. He lifted up a gloved hand and nodded for the flashing cameras and roaring subjects. Belle looked back inside her carriage through her peripheral vision, and found her younger brother already imitating Niels' gestures. She slumped slightly in her seat. It seemed like everybody was having a ball, and she was the only one unhappy with the whole occasion. Sometimes she wondered if she was actually the youngest of the family, in terms of mental age.

"Hey Belle, how 'bout offering a smile or two?" Lucas suggested, gritting out his words from behind a wide, boyish grin. "It pains me to say this, really, but you look a lot prettier when you're not bitching and slumping in your seat and sticking out your lower lip like that, seriously."

Although a little bit baffled at her little brother's odd method of cheering her up, Belle forced herself to sit up straight and play princess. She flashed the crowd her sweetest smile and waved, her diamond bracelet tinkling with the motions.

Lucas ran a hand through his hair, which was already being mussed up by the wind, and then, a few girls sitting on top of a large wall squealed his name. While he blushed, putting up a façade of modesty and embarrassed delight, Belle shared a knowing look with Niels. When the parade was over, they could look forward to their little brother's inevitable, obnoxious gloating - joy.

Niels made a funny face at the thought, if only for a tiny moment, before slipping back into his stoic Prince Charming persona. But Belle had seen enough of it. She tipped back her head and let out a loud bout of laughter, when suddenly, the voices cheering seemed like they had increased tenfold. Belle looked confused for a split second, and then thought that she should probably offer the crowd a smile and nod of acknowledgment. It was only polite, after all. She slightly tilted her head in their general direction, which was admittedly a hard thing to do considering the amount of people.

"Huh, see? Looks like you've managed to capture yourself some fans there, Bel. You should smile like that more often, and spend less time looking like you're constantly on PMS."

"Oh, shut up, Lucas. That look's really reserved just for you."

"Geez, thanks, I feel so special now."

"You," she laughed out. "Are very much welcome."

**. . .**

Lovino Vargas hoisted himself up a fire escape. Scowling at his brothers who were already comfortably seated, he wiggled his way in between them, pushing them out of the way for some room. They were surrounded by small apartment buildings that were similar in shape to the one they were perched at, and conveniently located near the capital's central square, which was, in turn, the best place to watch the parade. It was a perfect height, just high enough so that one could see above the sea of heads and flapping hand-held flags, but still low enough to be able to clearly observe the ongoing festivities.

"Okay, seriously, if Mom and Dad knew where we are – if they were here, we'd be dead by now." Lovino remarked, rubbing his temple. Beside him sat his little brother, Feliciano Vargas, who gave him an open smile.

"But they're not here!" he proclaimed cheerfully, clapping his hands. Lovino rolled his eyes. This was coming from the little boy who, at the age of eight, had bawled almost endlessly at the idea of taking a photograph with a life-sized statue of a gorilla. Now he was dangling on fire escapes without a care in the world.

"That doesn't change the fact that this is dangerous as hell, Feliciano."

"But we're getting a much better view up here."

"Oh, sure. At the risk of slipping and falling and breaking our necks and _dying_."

"Ah, you're such a killjoy, you know that?"

"…Wow, thanks. Now I _really_ want to stay up here."

"Hey, ssh," their oldest brother Antonio Carriedo reprimanded. Being adopted, Antonio looked nothing like the Vargas brothers, whose complexions were much fairer. But the way they all carried themselves seemed to nullify such petty facts, they looked like they were actual brothers born from the same womb. "Check out the soldiers. What kind of bogus march is that anyway?" the Spanish boy snorted.

"Antonio," Feliciano complained. "We're not supposed to act like stuck-up foreigners until we get home. Mom and Dad said so."

"But they're not here," Lovino echoed mockingly. "And that statement doesn't make even one lick of sense."

"Oh, cry me a river, Lovi."

"What the hell–! Why, you little – I oughta…"

"Guys, what did I just say?" Antonio chided. His younger brothers promptly shut their traps.

The 'bogus march' of the soldiers soon ended, and it was followed by an almost endless drum roll and an equally long fanfare. Then behind feathered horses came out two carriages – one seemed to be made out of solid gold, while the other was an elaborately-carved white coach with equally white wheels. Feliciano let out a low whistle.

"Fancy," he remarked.

"Score one for Captain Obvious." Lovino drawled, snickering at his own joke.

"Here he comes," Feliciano cried, pointedly ignoring his brother's sarcasm. "The birthday boy, His Royal Highness Prince…something-something."

"I believe his name is Niels," Antonio said, bemused.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Prince Niels. Yikes, man, can you see his hair? It looks like a bear came and fucking ripped it apart, seriously. And who the hell are those other two kids in the other carriage?" Lovino hung his body as far as he could without falling, squinting his eyes. "Is it other prince and princess, or something?"

"Probably," the youngest Vargas said, nodding. "Oh, look. The princess is sort of cute, isn't she?"

"Are you kidding me?" Lovino responded incredulously, letting out a bark of laughter. "She's hot!"

"Whoa, okay, try not to get a stiffy in the middle of a parade, big bro." Feliciano laughed while Lovino just half-scowled. "What are their names?" he asked Antonio, pointing at the white carriage. When he didn't receive a response right away, Feliciano poked his oldest brother. Once. Twice.

"Hellooo," he wheedled. "What's gotten into you, Antonio?"

"…Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing."

"If you say so," Feliciano said, shrugging.

"It's just…" Antonio began. "Well, I…I don't know about the younger one, but I think the girl's name is Belle."

"Belle?"

A well-timed sunbeam struck the princess's blonde tresses. She inherited the wide, jolly smile of the King, and had her backhand wave perfected almost to a fault. The younger prince seemed to be saying something to her, and she laughed. It looked golden.

"I think I…" Antonio licked his lips; his eyes wide and unblinking. "I think I had coffee with her last night."

Lovino snorted in dismissal. "Right. And Feliciano here is undoubtedly the manliest man on Earth."

"…Ah, hey! That's mean!" Feliciano complained, and Lovino cackled.

"No, seriously, you guys," Antonio tried again – to no avail, his little brothers were still busy squabbling (Feliciano actually looked he was close to tears now). "She looks just like the girl that I–"

By chance, Belle's gaze was suddenly drawn to the little fire escape perched upon an even littler apartment building. She saw three foreign-looking boys seated there – two of them looked almost identical, and both had a wild strand of hair sticking out of their auburn head. Both of them looked deliciously handsome, all boyish charm and good looks that were distinctly Italian. They looked like they were in the middle of a one-sided argument, but it was the last one of the trio that caught Belle's attention – the one that, with tanned copper skin and maple syrup colored hair, stuck out like an oasis in the middle of a stretching desert. Like a familiar face in the middle of an overwhelming crowd. Or like a Spaniard in the middle of two Italians.

Belle face lit up with recognition and she stirred, and Lucas thought she would leap to her feet and jump out the carriage. He sent her a curious look, before firmly gripping her arm in his grasp. His sister made a strangled noise that was undoubtedly a nonverbal complain of some sort, and looked at him with almost-pleading eyes (that might not last long – he knew he should have brought his digital camera with him today. Damn. There went his potential blackmail material.)

"Don't even think about it, you," Lucas whispered intensely. "Unless you want an earful from Mother and Father later. Remember the time when you were ten and tried to upstage Niels during his thirteenth birthday party? Yeah, let's try and not make history repeat itself."

Belle relented with a huff, and her little brother drew away his hand. She glanced back up, and suddenly her gaze met Antonio's, and it was wonderful – she could hear her heart thumping in exhilaration. But, it wouldn't do any good for the Royal Family if the princess leaped out of her carriage just to greet some foreign young man. She would be on the covers of the national magazines faster than the time Lucas had choked on his salmon during a formal (and, unfortunately for him, press-documented) dinner party.

Belle bit her lower lip and breathed out of her nose to contain herself, to withhold her elated thoughts, because she couldn't just yell out his name, let alone jump out across the street to meet him, unless she wanted to cause some sort of commotion. Those sort of deeds were simply not done; and it would be nothing if not embarrassing to her and her whole family if she even thought about it, and–

Ah, what the heck.

"Antonio!" Belle shouted, hoping that it was loud enough for the Spanish boy to hear. When Lucas whipped his head to look at her in disapproval, his expression bordered on horrorstruck. She shrugged with mock helplessness and laughter bubbled in her throat. The King and Queen didn't seem to hear her outburst, and if they did, they didn't seem to mind.

Belle looked back at Antonio and saw his lips break into a wide smile. "Hey, Belle!" he yelled down at her, his wonderful accent ringing clearly in her head like the bells of a cathedral during the early spring. "How about a latte?"

Feliciano's face lit up in glee and he began clapping Antonio on the back, jabbering excitedly in his ear. Lovino, though, looked like he just witnessed something equivalent to a polar bear riding a unicycle, and he gaped in disbelief. This was their family's first trip touring Europe and _Antonio_ was the one who got to meet a princess? No fair! He felt like both of the ugly stepsisters from Cinderella (and they weren't even _dudes_), and, in an effort to let out some steam, he furiously punched his older brother in the arm.

Antonio stayed perfectly still, only absent-mindedly reaching up to rub at the recently-inflicted bruise forming on his limb. His eyes widen when, from the white carriage strolling below, Belle smiled up at him and blew him a kiss.

About fifty guys in the vicinity of the central square blew kisses back to her, but Antonio knew that it was meant for him and no one else. Mimicking a catching gesture, he gave Belle a small bow of his head, a little sign of mock-respect for Her Royal Highness, while Feliciano laughed excitedly and Lovino spouted gibberish angry words of incredulity in the background. Antonio sent Belle a smile that he hoped she'd keep in mind, and silently prayed so that their paths could cross again, someday.

She had kept looking back at him as her carriage went by.

The next day, when the Vargas family was busy packing up yet again to embark on the next part of their adventure journeying across Europe, Antonio made sure to safely tuck away his first kiss from a princess into his carry-on backpack of souvenirs. When he told his mother and father, they had been delighted, and reprimanded him for not taking a picture with Belle while he still had the chance. Feliciano promised to celebrate his own seventeenth birthday by coming back to this country again, while Lovino pointed out that Belle had to hurl that 'kiss' almost as far as fifty feet, and there were a bajillion guys who thought that it was for them anyway, and so it didn't count.

Antonio said, excuse me, but it did.

**. . .**

**(more) notes**. I've only written, like, a few fics using present tense and then suddenly this happens and it pretty much writes itself, bad grammar and all. Looks like I lost my grip on writing using past tense. Fortunately, starlight amethyst came to save the day by being my beta, so…yeah. A gigantic thank you to her awesome, awesome self! ❤

Pffff, what the hell, ending, you could've done better. :I And ha, Belgium as royalty was pretty much a dull surprise, huh? I was never the most subtle of sorts…sorry about that. OTL

The country where the Benelux sibs are royalty is completely fictional, and the stereotype Antonio mentioned when Belle offered him a latte is the one that says people in Spain drink a lot of coffee. Equerries used to be dudes who took care of a royal's horses, but now it's almost similar to a (bunch of) personal attendant(s) or an _aide-de-camp_. Ludwig's title as the "Baron of Allemannia" references the tribe of Allamanni from which the name Germany – or in French, _Allemagne_ – was coined. /nerdplz.

Also, obligatory Alfred cameo is obligatory.

Thanks for reading, and reviews would be appreciated very, very much! ❤ Favs and alerts would be too, of course, but a lot less. /whut.

…**edit. **Woah, it's Spain's birthday today? And to think I've decided to post this story at this very date on a whim – could I _have _any better timing? :D


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